


Timestamps: Not Part of the Plan

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Not Part of the Plan [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-15 20:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: A collection of ficlets/timestamps for my series Not Part of the Plan, set during or after the main story.These are not necessarily in chronological order, but in order of when they were written.





	1. The dinner date before things went sideways, Dean POV edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV of the dinner date in [Chapter 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1068553/chapters/2404063) of Elephant in the Room Makes Three. 
> 
> Based on [this lovely fanart by cloudsiterations](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/107210839256/cloudsiterations-and-now-im-posting-it-by), and originally posted on tumblr.

Dean’s been feeling like crap all evening, but this moment, right here? This is the worst. This is absolute worst of the worst, because Cas is sitting right next to him, gorgeous as fuck in his suit and not knowing the half of it, and his face – Jesus, his  _face_.

He’s still staring at the stupid little charm Dean put on for him. Dean’s surprised, yet he’s not surprised, that Cas went all the quiet at the sight of it, his grateful voice dropping to a whisper while Dean babbled in his ear about how he worked together with Dad to make a charm like for Mom.

Dean is pondscum.

See, it all makes sense when Dean’s by himself and can think about what’s really at stake. He’s had ages to process this and he knows for certain that this is the best for everyone. His and Cas’ marriage isn’t the real deal, and it’s not like Cas wants it, or him, in any way that matters. Sam, however,  _does_  need him. Mom and Dad need him, the crew need him. Cas will be fine with Rachel and Virgil and the rest of his posse, and he’ll eventually go back to his normal life ‘cause everyone knows that he’s not at fault here. Dean’s the one who jilted him, and Dean can take anything anyone can throw at his head for it – Michael, Ellen, whoever. It’ll work out, he knows it.

Yet right now Cas is sitting right there, almost close enough to touch, and he’s stroking the little charm like it isn’t a cheap piece of crap Dean banged out in the stupid garage back at the House. Cas’ eyes are soft and his fingers are almost vibrating, which Dean wouldn’t even notice if he weren’t staring so hard. Dean’s not that dumb, he can read between the lines of what Cas has been telling him. He knows that Cas doesn’t make a habit of getting gifts ‘cause most of the people he has in his life are shit. Hey, Dean’s shit as well, so there’s that.

“If our official relationship were authentic,” Castiel says quietly, “I would kiss you in thanks.”

Dean’s an asshole, because it’s easy as anything to say, “You can. I mean, I don’t mind. Public appearance and all that.”

Cas is gonna hate him. Dean’s gonna go, and Cas is gonna hate him, but Dean’s made peace with that. It’s totally okay that they’ll probably never see each again, as long as Cas is safe and Dean can go get shit done.

But that’s… later.  _Later_. Victor and the others are waiting for him in the theater, but that’s ages from now. A whole hour, maybe.

Right now Dean is with Cas, who’s turning towards him, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Cas ain’t made the way Dean is, can’t meet Dean in the middle like how he almost wanted; maybe that would’ve bummed Dean out in another life, but they’re living  _this_  life. In this life, they gotta play pretend, sit nice and cozy next to each other, and kiss where people can see.

“Thank you for this, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean keeps his eyes open when Cas kisses him. He cannot let himself think even for sec that Cas actually wants to do this with  _him_ , but the fantasy is –

Jesus, Cas smells so good. He’s so patient, awkward,  _perfect,_ even when he’s being an asshole (and besides, Dean’s the biggest asshole of them all). Of course Dean would be so stupid as to fall for someone like Cas, who he doesn’t get most of the time and drives him crazy and kisses him like Dean’s goddamned precious or something.

Well, fuck it. Dean’s going anyway, right? Cas is gonna hate him anyway, right? He’d known coming out tonight that he’s got nothing to lose.

Dean closes his eyes and kisses back.

In another life –  _yet another_  life – they could be the best thing that ever happened to each other. In this moment, Dean lets himself believe in that life.


	2. Dean and Cas admire a photo of their wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set vaguely in future, probably before their second wedding.
> 
> Based on [this gorgeous fanart by nunubunkie](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/104405794062/nunubunkie-dean-and-cas-at-their-royal), and originally posted on tumblr.

“If you asked me,” Dean says as he peers over Cas’ shoulder, “I cannot tell you what the hell was going through my head at that sec. Someone must’ve asked me to wave? Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Cas says.

Where Cas got the photo from, Dean doesn’t know and is kinda afraid to ask. It’s glossy, which means it must be an original, or a reprint of an original, and as far as Dean knows most of the things to do with that wedding were either destroyed by Naomi or lost during one of the many raids on Speaker Hill. Dean vaguely remembers Charlie telling him that some of the stuff that got stolen during that time has resurfaced on the memorabilia market at stupid prices, but Dean’s still weirded out by the whole concept and hasn’t thought about it much.

Wherever Cas got it from, he seems mighty interested it now. He’s still squinting at the damn thing, and turning the photo this way and that to catch the light.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asks. “Checking if I was more handsome then compared to now?”

Cas huffs softly. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I find your looks less interesting compared to your other qualities.”

“You mean like, how I can fix your car and shit?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, the eye-roll implied in his tone, “that is exactly what I mean.”

“Aww, thanks, hon.”

“It’s just…” Cas reaches back blindly with hand, catching the hem of Dean’s shirt to pull him close. Dean takes the hint good-naturedly, sliding an arm around Cas’ wait and hooking his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas exhales slowly. “This is a picture of us, yet I look at it and see strangers. I remember being relieved –  _happy_ – that it was you I had to stand with in the temple that day. But I hadn’t known then how…”

He pauses to gather his thoughts, and Dean waits. Dean’s more a forward-looking kinda guy, but he totally gets and is there for Cas’ occasional need to look back and see where they’ve been.

“I hadn’t known that there could be a fuller sense of happiness,” Cas says. “I didn’t feel unhappy or unfulfilled at the time, but I also didn’t know there could be… more? That I could  _contain_  more. Does that make sense?”

 “Yeah,” Dean says quietly. “Makes perfect sense.”

Dean can’t see Cas’ face clearly from this angle, but he knows that Cas is smiling. Dean tightens his hold around him, and Cas leans back against his chest contentedly.

“I think,” Cas says at last, “that you’re waving at one of your relatives in this picture. I don’t remember when it was taken at all, either.”

Dean nods. “Good thing we’re doing it again, huh.”

“I know my ideas are excellent,” Cas says. “You’re welcome.”

Dean sighs exaggeratedly, while Cas just turns and kisses him on the cheek. “Excuse you _, I’m_  the one who said yes.”

“Indeed. And now you’re stuck fixing my car and shit.”

Dean curls his thumb into the loop of Cas’ belt. “Guess we better make the most of it.”


	3. Some schmoop where Dean marvels that he bagged a prince by accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of months after the divorce, when Dean and Cas are visiting the royal court for the first time.
> 
> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/161929343586/not-part-of-the-plan-timestamp).

Although Dean still can’t think of those long weeks without a hint of bitterness, he understands where his friends were coming from when they’d decided that there was no way Dean Winchester would ever, truly fall for a prince. ‘Dicks with crowns’, Dean once described ‘em to Cas, who’d been happy to agree with him, because hey,  _accurate._

The Republic has a shitload of problems, but even as a kid Dean hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the idea that some people could be viewed as inherently shinier simply because of whom they were born to. Although that line of thinking may stink of hypocrisy sometimes (Dean does lean on the Winchester family lineage on occasion), his confusion stems more from those old fairytales practically everyone grows up with, which more often than not feature the hero’s reward being the hand in marriage of a royal, or the discovery that the hero themself has secretly been royal all along.

The reward isn’t whatever benefits, responsibilities or wealth that may come from the position, but simply… being royal in itself. How on earth does that make sense? It doesn’t. It’s irritating as fuck, and Dean’s never made it a secret how irritating as fuck he finds it.

Hence the great irony of Dean’s bagging a royal for himself in the end.

Of course, Cas isn’t much like what Dean’d imagined a prince would be, and in fact most of the time Dean doesn’t even remember that that’s what Cas  _is_. Some might say that it’s because Cas doesn’t really count, what with his having spent most of his life in exile and forgotten, plus Cas is most of the time the weirdest little dork in the universe, which doesn’t scream princely at all.

But then there are times like right now.

The two of them are alone in a waiting room of the Winter Palace, and Dean’s been fidgeting with his jacket to get the cuffs on right for what feels like  _forever_. When he finally he does, he looks up to crow his success – only for his breath to catch in his throat.

Standing a few feet away from Dean, is a prince. Who is also Cas, but who is also a prince like in a woodcut of a book, handsome as all out, with a strong nose and chin, and his eyes lit like jewels under the old-fashioned lamps of the room. The regalia he’s wearing may be set in Winchester colors, but the design is princely in ways that even Grandpa Samuel would never be seen in, with high collars and gold embroidery, and there’s even a freaking circlet around the guy’s forehead, holyshit. 

For a brief, unsettling moment, Dean thinks that he’s in the wrong place, that he’s not supposed to be here and this supernaturally gorgeous guy who’s obviously stepped right out of a painting is going to demand that he show his invite to prove that he belongs here.

Then Cas breaks the illusion by turning to Dean and saying crossly, “My neck itches.”

“What?” Dean says.

“It’s scratchy.” Cas makes a face, nose going all wrinkly and adorable, and Dean thinks:  _Jesus fucking Christ_  he has it so bad.

This dude actually is a prince, but he’s  _also_  Cas, and the difference is that Dean was among the first to see both where others had been determined to see only one. That’s still a work in progress, and goodness knows there are still so many who’ve not yet broken past that barrier, but Dean’s working on it. He’ll work on it for the rest of his life if he has to.

Dean leans in, ignoring the sudden thickness in his throat (that  _shouldn’t fucking be there_  because  _what the fuck_  they’ve been together for  _months_ now and it shouldn’t still feel this miraculous to just  _be_ around Cas, shouldn’t it?) and adjusts the hard edge of Cas’s collar away from his neck.

“That better?” Dean asks.

“Not really.” Cas’ face is still contorted in irritation, but he does purse his lips to accept the kiss Dean gives him. “What’s that for?”

“It’s not just the outfit,” Dean says.

Cas sighs. “It’s not just the outfit.”

Dean suppresses a smile. “Nervous?”

“I want to go home.” Cas turns away a little, embarrassed. “I know that this is necessary, and I know that it’s different now that we don’t have to lie about anything but…” He sighs. “You probably find this ironic.”

“What? That we’re finally at the royal court and you’re the one dreading going out there while I’m—” Dean pauses to take stock of his heartbeat, which is mild, and his palms, which are dry. “Chill. I’m pretty chill. While you’re…”

“I don’t want to go out there.” It’s kinda criminal that Cas can make that face. “I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

“Because you want to show me off to your extended family, and everyone who once thought that I was beneath you,” Dean says promptly. “Plus I’m really fucking awesome at the galliard now and I’m not letting all those hours we spent practising go to waste.”

Cas makes a low, unhappy sound, and then tilts forward to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. It should be pretty dang uncomfortable considering how starched his jacket is, but Cas is a man of many skills. Dean settles a hand on the back of Cas’ head, scratching gently.

This is Dean’s life now – traveling between nations, making friendly with nobility, getting shit done with Cas by his side. All things considered, it’s pretty great, even with the sometimes crazy schedule. Besides, after everything they’ve been through so far, hobknobbing with old school nobility is far,  _far_  down the list of things that terrify Dean these days. Arrest one king, and everything else just seems lackluster.

“Would you rather I be the one freaking out?” Dean asks.

“Not really,” Cas admits. “It’s nice to not have to be the level-headed one all the time.”

Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ temple. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”


	4. Castiel enjoys ogling his husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas admires a photo of Dean who's looking dapper.
> 
> Based on [this photo of Jensen](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/137128602281/livinginthequestion-especially-for-you-because), and originally posted on tumblr.

“Cas,” Charlie says kindly, “you’re kinda harshing my groove.”

“Sorry,” Castiel says, though he only backs up a few inches from Charlie’s shoulder, and does not at any point take his eyes off the spread of photographs she’s laid out on the table. “These are just really interesting.”

“Sure,” Charlie says. “The fact your hubby’s face is all over most of these is just a coincidence, right?”

“Naturally,” Castiel says. “You must let me have one.”

Charlie laughs. “You, like, have the original.”

“I can’t tuck the original inside my pocket,” Castiel says. “Give me that one.”

“Geez, bossy,” Charlie says, though she grabs at the photo he’s pointing at. “Here. You happy?”

Castiel nods, frowning at the paper image of Dean’s not-quite blue steel. “Yes, thank you.”


	5. The risk of being a celebrity couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas learn that there's look-alike porn of them.
> 
> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/143208100376/inspired-by-a-convo-with-flyingcatstiel-today).

It’s strange enough for Dean to come home and find that Cas has ensconced himself in the den (since Cas is almost always in the library or garden), but stranger still are the noises  _emanating_  from said den.

Dean’s standing just outside the door, the room beyond dark save the flickering light that must be coming off of the TV screen. The associated noises, though – they have that static quality that makes it clear they’re from playback, but they don’t seem like the kind of thing that Cas would want to watch,  _ever._  And not only because Cas only ever seems to care about watching TV when Dean is around.

Dean stands there for a few more seconds just to make sure that he’s hearing what he’s hearing, and then he pushes the door and steps inside.

“Cas,” Dean says, and there’s a hilarious half-second where Cas almost throws the remote in the air in surprise, “are you watching porn?”

“No!” Cas says loudly. “Well, yes, technically, watching, yes, but…”

Dean flips over the back of the couch and drops into the space next to Cas, quickly grabbing him round the waist before he can get away. It’s not Cas’ discomfort that has Dean gleeful; Dean knows him well enough by now that Cas doesn’t understand porn, or at least, doesn’t understand what it’s meant to do, so anything that has him curious enough to watch by himself must be something special indeed.

“Dean,” Cas says. “This might not be—”

“What’ve you got? Do we have the naughty babysitter getting a special from the pizzaman or…” Dean trails off. “Wait a minute.”

“The video arrived in the mail today,” Cas says, while Dean stares at the TV. “Gabriel sends his regards.”

“Gabriel,” Dean says flatly. “Your cousin, Gabriel? What is he, the duke of porn?”

“He thought we’d find it amusing.” Cas scowls. “I think.”

Dean tilts his head slowly and squints. “Are they having sex on a flag?”

“It’s a map, I believe,” Cas says. “They’re on a ship.”

“How is that a ship?” Dean asks. “It doesn’t even have any – whoa, where’d that guy come from? Is he just sitting there watching them?”

“Um,” Cas says. “Yes, I believe this one’s a… an exhibitionist scenario? Earlier there was another scene with… never mind.”

“ _Again,_ ” says the new character, a scowling, straight-laced figure who’s currently watching the other two bump uglies on top of what’s apparently a map-covered table. “ _Stanley, you know the terms_.”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” says ‘Stanley’ to the man underneath him. “ _James, I must—_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” says ‘James’. “ _Do it, you got to ruin my ass, it’s the only way, we’re married now._ ”

“Cas,” Dean says slowly, “is this look-alike porn?”

Cas exhales. “Yes, Dean.”

“So that – that blonde guy, James, that’s supposed to be me. And the one with the sexy lips, that’s you.”

“Yes, I believe so. The one watching them is Henry. He’s the king,” Cas adds helpfully.

Dean chokes. “The fuck.”

“See,” Cas says, warming up, “Stanley and James have just been married as part of the terms of a peace treaty, but the king suspects that they’re using this marriage to conspire against him, so he’s having them consummate it in front of him as an act of submission to his power.”

“There’s a plot?” Dean says in disbelief.

“I think only as far as it can get to the sex,” Cas says thoughtfully. “I tried fast-forwarding through those parts but I kept missing dialogue, so I had to rewatch the whole thing properly.”

Dean turns to Cas slowly. “You’re  _enjoying_ it?”

“It’s interesting,” Cas says. “I know it’s… creepy, but it’s far from the worst we’ve encountered. I honestly liked how Stanley and James first met.”

“Was it in a bar?” Dean asks wryly.

“I’ll have you know that it was at a masque,” Cas says. “Hosted by Henry, of course. James wasn’t supposed to be there but he snuck in.”

“Let me guess, Stan and James have anonymous sex with their masks on?”

“You’ve seen this already?”

“Just a wild guess.” Dean sighs dramatically and loop an arm around Cas’ shoulder. A beat, and then Cas snuggles in, making himself comfortable against Dean’s side. “So you wanna watch the whole thing?”

“You’re far more handsome than James,” Cas says earnestly.

“Damn right,” Dean says.


	6. Dean ruins a surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes home early, ruining a surprise.
> 
> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/133188906386/i-got-tagged-by-hamburgergod-to-write-a-thing-in).

Dean knows that Cas isn’t normally a fan of surprises, but he thought that he was the exception? Like, Dean’s been away for a whole week but managed to get back a few hours earlier than expected, and he thought that that would merit at least an excited  _Dean!_ Followed perhaps by a broad grin of delight, and then a smooch. Or lots of smooching, Dean isn’t picky.

What Dean doesn’t expect is, once he tracks Cas’ location to their upstairs bathroom, for Cas to jerk up from where he’s leaning over the sink and slam the door in Dean’s face just as he’s saying, “Honey I’m—”

Dean blinks a few times, and then there’s Cas’ muffled – and distinctively pissed – voice snapping, “You’re early.”

“Uh, yeah?” Dean says. “I thought you’d be…”

It’s just then that Dean registers the state of their bedroom. There are unlit candles along the dresser and windowsill, some shimmery cloth thing draped across their bed, and freaking flower petals strewn on the floor.

Dean has to close his eyes and press a hand to his face. The momentary disappointment is gone, dissipated, fucking decimated – because here’s yet more evidence that he’s married the biggest, most awesome dork on the planet, and there cannot have been enough stars in the sky to bless Dean’s birth.

Of course, there’s also the thing where Cas is apparently pissed Dean spoiled the surprise.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean says, trying for harsh but failing so badly. “Where’s the other guy? I can’t believe you’d do this to me, and on the day I’m coming home!”

The door swings open, and Cas is right there glaring at him, and wearing – um. Wow.

“That’s not funny,” Cas says.

“It’s kinda funny,” Dean says, a little breathless, but who can blame him because holy shit Cas  _shaved_ , too.


	7. The amnesia incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up with amnesia, having lost the last four years of his life. For the most part this isn’t so bad, except that in the last two years he’d apparently gotten himself engaged to a guy he doesn’t even know. It’s weird as all out.
> 
> Based on a line in the [epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4748165/chapters/15743437) that went: _"Truly, of the whole two years in getting there, there were only a few weeks where Castiel thought they wouldn’t make it, and that was only because of that awful amnesia curse that struck Dean during a routine hunt."_
> 
> This is that amnesia curse. :D

Dean wakes up irritated. It’s one of his least favorite ways to wake up, because it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day, or at the very least means he’s about to pay for something stupid he did last night.

He lies there quietly, and sensory details start to creep in: the room’s colder than he likes, the bed is unfamiliar, and there are at least two people in the room with him.

Curious about that last one, Dean smacks his dry lips and open his eyes. It takes a while to focus on two figures, one of whom has a halo of golden hair that’s immediately familiar. There’s a flurry of movement when they realize he’s awake, and then a nurse is poking at his head and Mom is making concerned noises.

Dean winces. “What did I do this time?”

“Didn’t get into a defensive position when you got thrown against the wall,” Mom says. “But I’ll save the reaming out, because you’re going to be doing that to yourself soon enough, I reckon.”

Can’t argue there. Dean’s skull still feels bloated, inasmuch as skulls can feel bloated, and he can’t even spare the mental energy to summon up the hunt that’s responsible for it. The fact that Mom’s here is just a cherry on top; he’d rather have Jo or Victor here making fun of him for getting knocked out like a goddamned rookie.

“Can you open your eyes?” the nurse asks. “That’s good.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Mom pats Dean’s arm and stands up. “I’m just going to let Cas know you’re up.”

“Who’s that, the doctor?” Dean stops squinting up at the nurse when he notices that Mom has gone still, and is frowning at him. “What?”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes over an hour of back-and-forth before they get it narrowed down: Dean’s missing almost four years of memories. Of course, from Dean’s perspective this means that he’s leapfrogged four years into the future, and although he’s glad that he’s still a handsome son of a bitch nearing thirty, there are some other matters of concern.

“Sam’s graduated?” Dean asks.

“Flying colors,” Mom says. “He interned with the Men of Letters for a while.”

“Good, good. Baby’s still…?”

“Running as smooth as the day your got her.” Mom grins when Dean relaxes. “Dad still borrows her from time to time.”

“And, uh…” Dean scratches his neck, discomfited. “This Cas you mentioned…”

“Your fiancé.” Mom smiles at that, so Dean can put a tick in the parental approval list on that one. “It’s short for Castiel.”

“Oh. What kind of name is that? It sounds…”

She nods. “He is.”

“Really? He’s from up north? How’s that even…” Dean realizes he’s fidgeting, and tries to settle his hands in his lap. “How’s that possible? I mean, I know how that’s _possible_ , the Wall’s been down for – how long is it now? But _engaged_? That’s…” Dean’s laugh is a little hysterical, and is not at all helped by the way Mom purses her lips sympathetically, as if he’s back to being a dumb kid who just fell out of a tree, whoops-a-daisy.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mom says. “We don’t have to talk about everything in one go.”

Dean starts to protest, but then thinks better of it. “Can I see him? Castiel – Cas?”

Mom glances over at the doctor, who says that that might be a good idea. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll let him know you’re up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas must not be at the hospital, so it takes a while for him to show up. When he does, Dean doesn’t even notice at first, because Dad steps into the room first, and Dean’s immediately sitting up straight (force of habit) and quickly taking note of how much more gray Dad has in his hair now (quite a lot).

“How’re you feeling?” Dad asks. Dean starts to answer that he feels mostly fine, it’s just the headache that’s annoying, when he finally registers the dude just standing a little ways behind Dad.

“Uh,” Dean says. “Hey.”

“Dean,” Dad says, in a tone that’s so flat and awkward that it’s almost hilarious. “This is Cas. He seem familiar?”

“Sorry,” Dean says carefully.

“It’s all right,” Cas says, with a voice that prickles the hairs of Dean’s arms. “We’re narrowing down the curse. The hexbag you were hit with was… a unique concoction.”

“At least I’m not picking henbane out from my teeth,” Dean says.

Cas smiles, and he’s… Okay. Yeah. Totally Dean’s type. Tall, tan, built, dark hair, and with striking eyes that Dean can see himself picking out across a room. Dean would totally tap that, but tapping it isn’t the same as… as the other thing. 

“Where’s your mother?” Dad asks.

“Harassing the doctor, last I heard,” Dean says.

“I’ll… look for her, then.” Dad shuffles to the door, and Dean can’t even enjoy the weirdness of that because his supposed _fiancé_ is now pulling up a chair and sitting down next to his bed.

“This is really strange for me,” Dean blurts out. “I mean, I – I hope I’d recognize something, but it’s… I couldn’t have picked you out of a line-up.”

Cas doesn’t seem offended. “It can’t be forced. But you are feeling better?”

“Yeah, head’s not as sore.”

“That’s good. Would you like to see what Sam looks like now?”

Dean starts. “What?”

Apparently, Cas brought along a photo album, which he now takes out and hands over. It’s not a fancy photo album – in fact, it seems to be one of those cheap ones you can get from a convenience store, which has Dean thinking that Cas put it together on the fly for this purpose. Which means that the photos inside were picked for this purpose.

Dean opens the album slowly.

“Whoa, he’s uh…” Dean is startled at first, but then grins. “Nice that he won’t topple over in a stiff breeze anymore.” He flips over to the next photo. “Hey, everyone’s looking good. Is that Charlie? Man, I’m digging that hair.”

There are more photos, of the Impala, the Winchester house, Sam at work, Mom and Dad with the rest of the Campbells (which is a hell of a trip), and others. Cas explains whenever Dean has any questions, though Dean notices that Cas is only in two of the photos, and even then he’s in group shots. There’s nothing of just the two of them, which feels like a pointed and irritatingly careful omission.

Dean gets it, in a sense. It’s unsettling to find himself having effectively leapt into the future, and he understands that they don’t want to overwhelm him with information. But he’s not freaking out. He’s a hunter through and through, his instincts honed from years out on the road, and he trusts those instincts to let him know if he’s in a bad situation. There’s nothing like that here; he is calm and curious, and wants to get on with it.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, putting the album down. “I appreciate it, I really do, but none of this is pinging anything. Not even… Look, me and you. How did we meet?”

“Benny’s bar,” Cas says promptly.

“Oh.” Dean’s glad that Benny’s business got off the ground, then. “And you… hit on me?”

There’s a couple of chunks missing from Dean’s noggin, but he’s not imagining the way Cas hesitates. Dean almost calls him out on it, but then Cas says, “Not exactly. But I did proposition you, and it snowballed from there. But it wasn’t a traditional courtship by any measure.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly. “How long did we date before we got engaged?”

Again Cas hesitates. “Um.”

“Come on, how can that be a difficult question?”

“I think I should provide some further details first. I’m from the royal kingdom, and one of Michael’s lesser cousins.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean says, hands up to shush him. Cas’s mouth snaps shut politely, and although that’s a good thing, it makes Dean’s annoyance flare up even further. “Okay, that is… I’m gonna need a minute – or more than a minute – to process that, but why are you givin’ me the runaround? All I asked is how long we were a thing before one of us popped the question. It’s a pretty easy question.”

“Actually, it’s not an easy question,” Cas says. “But I can say that I’m the one who popped the question.”

“Good, an actual answer.” Dean lifts his hands and draws an invisible line in the air. “This is us meeting. This is you proposing. How long in between?”

“Eight months. Just a little over.”

Dean drops his hands in surprise. “That’s… pretty fast, isn’t it.”

Cas inclines his head a little. “I suppose it is. To be fair, it was a rather intense eight months, and would take more than a mere minute to explain the full events of.” Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Cas stands up and adds quickly, “Shall I call your parents back? They might be able to answer you better.”

“Actually,” Dean says, “can I get out of here?”

You’d think the answer to _that_ would be easy, too. But no. Cas fetches Mom and Dad back, and although Mom can share the doctor’s report that other than the memory thing, Dean is fit as a fiddle and can probably be discharged, there’s another thing they need to consider.

Dad actually sounds apologetic, which rings all sorts of alarms. “Here’s where we’re at, son. You’re a public figure.”

“I’m a what now,” Dean says.

“A public figure,” Mom says. “Like Lauren and Humphrey, Ellen and Bill, Bert and Ernie? You and Cas are a big deal, and people recognize you wherever you go. So… it’s not a good idea for you to go out while you’re like this.”

Dean considers Mom and Dad’s worried faces. They don’t look ( _didn’t_ look?) this way at Dean often, but he sees it aimed at Sam a lot, usually when he’s just dropped one of his many bombshells on them. Their concerns are probably legit, and Dean already knows he’s going to roll with whatever they suggest, but then his eye slides a little sideways and he catches Cas’s frown, which seems more unhappy than worried.

“I can’t even go home?” Dean asks.

“Sure he can,” Cas says. To Mom and Dad, he says, “It’s a good idea. He’ll be in familiar surroundings, and friends can visit him in privacy.”

Dean adds quickly, “And I can catch up on what I missed quicker. The way you guys are on about, there’s a lot of it.”

“Got that right,” Dad mutters.

 

* * *

 

 

They get Dean discharged, but still make a show ‘n dance of sneaking him out of the hospital under the cover of night, which honestly makes Dean feel kinda like a moron. He does it anyway, and during the drive home (Dad driving, Cas sitting shotgun, Mom in the back with him) watches the scenery go by and honestly doesn’t find much of Lawrence changed.

Home hasn’t changed much, either. There’s still the same gate, the same walls, and the same garden, though Mom’s changed some of the flowers. Another wave of relief washes over Dean when he steps through the door, even with the minor changes here and there that are at least understandable (new TV and wallpaper in the hall, some of the furniture’s moved around). There’s more of that in the kitchen, with the smell of Mom’s cooking and their usual brand of beer in the fridge.

It’s clear that time has passed, but not a _ridiculous_ amount of time. The world that Dean’s in is pretty close to the one he knows. That’s good.

Dean vaguely registers someone turning on the TV, but Mom, Dad and Cas seem to be letting him do his own thing. So Dean wanders through the rooms to take in every detail he can, and then goes upstairs.

There’s other changes upstairs, unsurprisingly quite a bit in Dean’s room. Cas’s stuff – and it must be Cas’s stuff, because Dean doubts he’d have become a fan of Advanced Theoretical Alchemy in the past four years – is mingled between Dean’s. There’s books, clothes, and a small wooden chest underneath Dean’s desk that looks way too old school even for Sam.

For a moment Dean feels itchy at the encroachment, but then it passes. His sight shifts, and he takes in the scene of his room again, noting that there actually isn’t that much of Cas’s stuff in here. Cas has moved in, but this can hardly be all of his belongings. Dean wonders if Cas has taken some of his things out for Dean’s comfort, but that can’t be right, because he wouldn’t have left any of this behind.

Figuring that he has permission, he picks his way through the room. His own things haven’t changed that much, and there’s only one new poster pinned up the window. Dean touches book covers, peers into the closet, and nudges at the chest with a boot. He even peeks into the drawer next to his bed, and automatically nods with approval at the condoms and half-used lube bottle inside.

All in all, there’s not that much to be gleaned here.

In fact, the two most important things Dean discovers aren’t even in the room itself.

The first is when Dean takes off his jacket. It occurs to him that he hasn’t searched his pockets yet, so he does that now, and he smiles at his immediate finds of a zippo, a pen knife, and a set of playing cards. In the upper pocket is a more unusual find: a torn piece of what might’ve been a magazine, with a picture of Cas’s face on it.

It’s a striking photo, but not a particularly welcoming one. Cas looks like a politician – hell, he looks like Grandpa Samuel, with a similar jut of his jaw and piercing gaze as he glares at something off-camera. Cas is hot as the dickens, but there’s something untouchable about him in the image, which brings closer to home the apparent fact that Cas is actual royalty (the fuck). It’s different from the Cas that Dean met earlier, though, which is also food for thought. Dean puts the scrap back and hangs the jacket in the closet.

The second thing Dean discovers comes when he takes off his shirt, and a flash of unfamiliar color catches his eye. He goes into the bathroom, where the mirror reveals that his hunter’s tat has been extended, with new lines of slightly lighter ink spreading out from the left side of the outer ring in what looks like a stylized tail, or wing. It’s kinda cool, but it breaks the symmetry of the pentagram, and doesn’t look like any functional ink Dean’s ever seen.

Dean trails a thumb across the new lines. Even though he doesn’t understand what this is, the lines are crisp and clean, which is evidence that whatever choices Dean may have forgotten he’d made, they were at least taken with the same care and deliberation he’s always had. Much like his room, his jacket, his crap – all of it’s still familiar enough that Dean knows he can’t have had a personality transplant in the last four years.

He’s still _him_ , just with a few pieces misplaced.

Dean cracks his knuckles. He can work with this.

 

* * *

 

 

Mom wants Dean to rest, and although Dean whines a bit, he realizes that he actually is tired, and wants to sleep in his own bed. Dinner is quiet – just him and Mom, since Cas is apparently out doing research on whatever it is that happened to Dean, and Dad has business elsewhere. Mom is sweet and hugs Dean a lot, which is… okay, it’s nice, even if Dean doesn’t really need it.

Dean sleeps in and wakes up the next morning a little disoriented.

By the time Dean comes down the sun’s way up, and the house sounds pretty quiet. But they haven’t left Dean alone – Cas is there, sitting at the dining table and scowling at a book he has open in front of him. He looks up when Dean approaches, and for a second hope lights up his eyes. It passes, but Cas still smiles and says, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Slept good.” Dean sits down and grabs an apple from the nearby fruitbowl, deciding he can make a proper breakfast later. “How’s the research?”

“I’ve passed it on to fellows with better equipment,” Cas says. “There was an unexpected psychic element to the attack, which was meant incapacitate you, but not in this way. Did Mary tell you what case you were on?”

“Yeah, suspected spellcasting misuse, with a bonus of stolen ingredients in play. Tamara still following up on it?”

“Yes, last I heard.”

Dean takes a bite from his apple, and takes the opportunity of chewing to think. “Here’s a question. If I’m a public figure, why am I still taking cases like this?”

“Because you, in your own words, ‘want to use your powers for good’.” Cas shrugs sheepishly. “You never wanted the public figure part. You learned to tolerate it simply because it can’t be undone.”

Mom told Dean some of this last night, but very, very carefully. Dean was annoyed by it at first, but every single thing Mom said needed like five minutes of processing to unwind in Dean’s head. (Michael’s no longer king? There was an _invasion_? Better yet, they’ve fucking reconciled with the rest of the fucking _Campbells_?) So he’d let Mom set the pace, even as he’d been impatient to know more.

All Dean knows is that he and Cas have become a symbol of unity between the Republic and whatever the northern kingdom has become. There’s more to it than that – Dean could read it in the way Mom hedged her words – but he thinks he’d not pushed for more because he’d wanted to hear Cas’s side of it.

So here Dean is, and here Cas is, and Dean isn’t sure where to start.

There’s the big things like, what does being a public figure even mean, how did that happen, and did Dean even know Cas was royalty when they hooked up because that sure does not sound like the kind of mess Dean would want to get into. Unless it was a wall-slamming angry sex thing at first, maybe? Though Cas doesn’t seem the type.

But there are other things clamoring at the forefront of his curiosity.

Basically, serious relationships aren’t his thing. Not because he’s against them, but because they’d never felt relevant to his life. Dean has fun, loves sex, and hell, he’s really liked some of the people he’s been with over the years, but going for it long-term needs so much effort. Mom and Dad have it okay, and sure, sometimes Dean’s yearned for someone to come home to on the regular, but marriage is _work_. Dean figured he just wasn’t the right person for that, like how he isn’t the right person for cake, not that there’s anything wrong with cake.

So Dean looks at Cas, and wonders.

“You may ask me anything you like,” Cas says amiably. “Some things must be very confusing.”

“Not _very_ confusing, but…” Dean smiles sheepishly. “I noticed that I got more ink?”

Cas nods. “It’s half of a matching pair. Would you like to see mine?”

“Uh. Sure?”

Cas lifts the hem of his shirt, revealing a mirror of the wing on Dean’s chest, though this one is etched across Cas’s lower right ribs, and has small, curled patterns next to it. Cas points at the curls and says, “This is your name in stylized elemental letters.”

Dean is a weak man with a healthy appreciation for a toned body, but he forces himself to focus on the tattoo and not anything else. He mostly succeeds, even.

“So.” Dean exhales a little when Cas sets his shirt back in place. “We’re really into each other.”

“I doubt I would’ve proposed otherwise.”

It takes Dean a second, but he huffs a laugh at the joke, and is startled when Cas laughs as well. Cas’s whole demeanor changes with it, all the statue-like planes of his face shifting around into a genuine, yet almost shy, grin. Attraction hums like a plucked string through Dean’s body, but he quashes it for now.

“You’re not a hunter, that’s for sure,” Dean says. “Not a Man of Letters either, but something similar.” Cas’s eyes alight with interest at Dean’s thinking out loud, so he continues, “And we don’t hunt together.”

“No,” Cas agrees. “You still hunt with your colleagues, and sometimes with your parents. I provide an assist on occasion, but it’s relatively rare. You mostly take cases around greater Lawrence these days, though when you travel further, I usually go with you.”

“Okay. So do we, like... Do we chill at bars? Pool, darts, that kind of thing?”

“Oh.” Cas frowns, thinking. “Not really. But you still play with your friends.”

“Are you a gearhead, then? Do we work on cars together?”

“You will always enjoy your use of any garage, but I tend to prefer the town library, or your mother’s garden.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, while Cas looks at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get a handle on this. What do we do, then?”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says.

“It’s… If two people are gonna get married, they have to be… They gotta jive together, right? Common interests? I mean, I’m really, _really_ not an expert on this, but it’s got to be more than just…” He waves a hand in the air vaguely. When Cas still looks confused, Dean blurts out, “Sex. It’s gotta be more than sex.”

Cas’s eyes widen. “Of course it’s more than sex.”

“Then what _is_ it? How are we a thing?”

Dean realizes that it’s an asshole question the moment it leaves his mouth, but there’s no taking it back. He realizes that his heart’s beating hard – it’s embarrassment, maybe, and perhaps nervous anticipation of whatever it is Cas will say in return.

The worst part is how perplexed Cas looks, as though he’s at a loss as much as Dean is, which is… yeah, understandable. How often do people get put in a spot this way, as though feelings can be explained in ten words or less? Dean doesn’t know what’s going on in his head most of the time anyway, because he’s an action guy, a _do it_ guy, so where does he get off asking someone else to make sense of this?

Except, Dean really wants to make sense of this. He needs to understand, because where everything else about Dean’s current life is at least recognizable, this nerdy little dude isn’t.

“I can’t say I’ve ever wondered about us that way,” Cas says. “Although I suppose I should have, because…” A strange, pensive look passes over his face, and although Dean doesn’t know what it means, it pinches his stomach tight.

At last Cas says, “For all the difficult things we went through, the one thing that never felt out of place was how drawn we were to each other. Even when we argued and disagreed and outright disliked each other, we had a rapport that was so natural, so easy, and so unlike anything I’d ever known. You ask me how we became a thing? I don’t know. We found each other, learned each other, and compatibility made itself manifest.”

Dean tries to imagine that. He thinks about his best friends – Charlie, Victor, Benny – and although he can kinda picture deeper feelings settling on top of the pretty damn real feelings he already has for his loved ones, his brain skids to a halt when he tries to picture Cas there. Dean may only have known Cas for a day, but it’s pretty damn clear that Cas isn’t like them, or like anyone else that Dean keeps tight with.

“How much did Mary tell you?” Cas asks. “Did she tell you of Sam’s role?”

“Sam?” Dean says in surprise. “What’s he got to do with us?”

“It’s a really long story.”

“I’d figured that much, what with you being a prince, of all things.”

Cas’s mouth thins. “You love me despite my royal connections.”

“Hey, I don’t mean anything by that,” Dean says, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just curious, is all.”

“And I will explain it all,” Cas promises. “But you should have some breakfast first. There’s food in the kitchen. I’ll join you in a bit – I need to make some phone calls first.”

“Anything important?”

Cas closes his book around a bookmark and sighs. “We were supposed to make a school visit in a few days. We’re guests of honor for the annual school play and were going to have a sit-down with the students, among other things. I’m going to cancel that and hopefully find a decent alternative for their event.”

Dean starts in surprise. That’s not something he’d imagined he’d do as a public figure, and it actually sounds pretty cool.

“We can still go,” Dean says. “I mean, it sounds like it’s for a good cause? You’re filling me in on what I’ve missed anyway, so I think I can fake it.”

Cas’s head snaps up, and he fixes Dean with a glare so intense that Dean’s skin goes cold.

“No,” Cas says flatly. “You will not do that.”

Dean swallows, abruptly aware how this Cas in his loose shirts and messy hair is also the sharp-jawed Cas that Dean observed in a magazine picture. “Okay,” Dean manages.

“Get your breakfast,” Cas says kindly. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a long day, and Dean regrets not taking notes. It takes a late breakfast that spills over into lunch for Cas to get through a hell of a lecture on finer points of the conflict that Mom covered just the basics of. He covers Sam’s role in the agreement and eventual rebellion, the engagement that went wrong, the marriage made of lies, and how that evolved into something else.

Dean listens intently to all of it, asking questions when he’s confused and calling time out whenever he gets overwhelmed. This is important shit, and he’s going to all of it back to front as though it’s his job, which in this case it kinda is.

But underneath this intense absorption of info, a smaller part of Dean is busy observing Cas through the telling. He notes the way Cas’s face changes, his gaze going a little distant at some parts, and the edges of his mouth curling up at others. Throughout it all Cas’s voice stays steady (Dean is totally unsurprised when Cas tells him he used to be a professor) that at times Dean almost forgets that Cas was actually _there_ when the shit he’s describing went down.

“The trial was a fracas,” Cas says. “Michael the Elder was none too happy that Michael the Younger was agreeable with Naomi’s reforming Parliament, and tried to sabotage the affair. You found out about it and made a big speech about reform and confronting a system that no longer works. It set a few tongues a-wagging, but for the most part the nobility was very much impressed with you.”

“Geez,” Dean says. “Go me, I guess. Again. Mom told me about the other part, that Michael’s in exile. Sorry, _retirement._ ”

“Yes, that’s right,” Cas says. “After that we came back here and… well, the last few months have been very quiet in comparison.”

“And I went back to hunting.” Dean leans back in his chair and exhales slowly. They’ve amassed a collection of snacks and drinks across the table by this point, and Dean grabs a nearby oreo to stuff into his mouth. “Do we do endorsements?”

“We’ve been offered, but you find those tacky.”

“What?” Dean considers. “Yeah, okay. Wait, not even car endorsements? No, no, that would be…”

“Worse, seeing as it’d require you to betray your baby,” Cas says with a smile. “Yes.”

Dean busies himself finishing his cookie, and tries not to feel rattled by Cas’s fond, knowing look. Cas is his fiancé (and ex-husband) so of course he knows things about Dean. Hell, Cas just spent half a day helping Dean figure out what’s what, and Dean had to be ungrateful and weird about it.

No, that’s not it. The problem is that Cas spent a couple of hours talking about an awesome, heroic guy who did some bad-ass shit for the sake of world peace, and that guy just happens to share the same name and body as Dean. Could Dean _actually_ do all of those thing Cas said he did? He’s not so sure, just as he’s not sure how to feel about Cas’s looking at him and hoping to see someone else.

“I guess it was the right call, not letting me go for that school whatever,” Dean says. “Might’ve embarrassed you.”

Cas blinks in surprise. “You could never embarrass me.” He sounds so goddamned earnest, and Dean feels his face warm. “I’m against it because you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not. Not again, not anymore.”

That… makes sense. Dean scrounges up a smile and tries to quell the tightening in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

After that, it’s a waiting game.

It’s frustrating to not be able to help, but Dean tries to think of it as a holiday. He keeps himself occupied with a range of activities: more catching up via papers and TV, fixing up odds and ends around the house, and binging on videos he no longer remembers watching but knows he’ll enjoy because hey, he’s the one who bought them.

Day two after Dean’s return home, Mom leaves to visit Grandpa Samuel, hoping to find something from the Campbell library that can help.

Day three, Missouri drops by (and damn, she looks good) and works with Cas to complete a full psychic measure on Dean. They conclude that the hex was meant to send the victim to sleep, but instead just sent certain parts of his brain to sleep.

Day four, Jo and Tamara come over for a visit, which is nice, though Dean overhears Dad talking to them that trying to jog Dean’s memory might not be useful at all, what with the cause being hex-related instead of mental.

Day five, Mom returns home with Sam in tow. Dean spends like five seconds boggling that Sam’s growing into the frame of a Gigantosaurous Rex, but then Sam opens his mouth to reveal that he’s Dean’s eternal geek of a baby bro, and there’s hugs and laughing and Sam patting at Dean with his huge paws to make sure that he’s okay.

“You’ve definitely been through worse,” Sam says with a grin. “The werewolf bite incident would be like, almost yesterday for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Fuck you too, for remembering,” Dean says cheerfully.

“Play nice,” Mom says, before patting Dean on the shoulder and wandering out of the living room. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Mom and Dad are super, and Jo and Tamara are great, but _Sam_. Geez. Having Sam here eases a notch on the vice Dean hadn’t realized was around his neck, and they fall into their usual banter and shit-talking with ease.

There’s serious stuff to talk about, too, of course, the main one being updates from Sam on the info they’d managed to get from the Campbell archives. Sam has theories about what went wrong with the curse, and he goes off into a tangent about sulfur-based ingredients that warp directional spells, only stopping when he sees the look Dean’s giving him.

“Lemme tell you,” Dean says, “it’s good to know that in four years you’re still an incurable nerd.”

“Yes, well, I need to live up to my reputation,” Sam says. “Anyway, we’ve passed it on to Cas. If anyone can figure it out, it’ll be him.”

Dean nods slowly, and rolls his eyes when Sam’s mouth goes slanted and sympathetic. “Geez, Sam, it’s not like I’m sick or anything like that. As curses go, this is pretty chill.”

“I suppose so.” Sam’s face may have changed, and not only because he’s growing his hair out, but his smile is the same. “Cas been keeping you company?”

“Yeah, some. He’s staying in the guest room—” which Dean only learned by observation a few days ago, because by time he’d realized that Cas had moved out of his room, he’d been too embarrassed to ask, “—but he’s been coming and going. Busy guy, trying to figure out what to do about the curse and… he has other stuff going on, I guess.”

Sam hums vaguely.

“What?” Dean says. “ _What_?”

“Nothing,” Sam says. “You’re just totally blown away that you’d bagged a guy like that.”

“I—” Dean sputters and looks around quickly to make sure no one else’s nearby, though logically he knows there can’t be what with Mom rattling around the kitchen, and Dad and Cas being out of the house. “C’mon, man, don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

It was probably too much to hope for that Sam wouldn’t take this line of discussion, but little brothers gonna do what they do. “Cas is…” He shrugs. “Cas has been really sweet.”

“Sweet,” Sam echoes flatly. “Not totally smoking hot.”

“Sure, if you’re into hot librarians.”

“Which are you are. Cas has reading glasses, by the way, if you haven’t seen them yet.”

Dean laughs and shoves at Sam. “Geez, dude, you don’t need to… It’s weird enough as it is, okay?”

Sam’s expression softens. “Is it?”

“ _Yes_.” Dean glances around again self-consciously, and lowers his voice when he says, “Look, Cas is a nice guy. He’s been really patient and helpful, and gave me the lowdown of the soap opera that was apparently my life for the past two years, but it’s…” He trails off, unsure if it’s even right to be saying this out loud, but Sam just gives that little incline of the head that’s a promise not to judge. “I’m not the marrying kind, Sam.”

“No,” Sam agrees. “You weren’t.”

Dean continues quickly, “Just thinking about marriage – about _being_ married – and it’s… I got total respect for people who can do it, but it’s really fucking scary.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Cas seems really smart and… put together, you know? Cool as a goddamned cucumber. _Him_ being married, sure. He seems like the kind of guy who’s already got curtains picked out, but I’m…”

Sam’s mouth turns down sympathetically, and Dean feels like a jerk. Hell, he’s felt like a jerk since the other day when Cas touched Dean’s lower back to guide him through a doorway, and Dean jumped like a freaking cat. After that Cas has been… careful. More careful.

“Anyway,” Dean says. “It’s not his fault. He’s missing the man he’s in love with, and has only me.”

“Now you’re being stupid.”

“It’s your job to say that. Don’t tell him any of this, okay?”

“Of course not. But you _are_ —”

“I’ve been trying to picture wanting it,” Dean says. “Wanting to be with another person for the rest of my life? That should be exciting. At least, I assume it’s gotta be exciting? But the only feeling about it that I can muster up is…”

“Fear?”

“Annoyance.” Dean winces. “I just feel really fucking annoyed, because it’ll change everything. I gotta give things up, move my life around. I know it’s supposed to be worth it, or whatever, but it’s…”

“Cas is practically a stranger,” Sam says.

“I don’t know if it’s just about Cas. He’s a good guy, I can see that.” And way too considerate for Dean’s pathetic ass. “We could be friends, maybe. But I don’t know if I have it in me to want something so different. I’ve talked to Mom about it – hell, I’ve read some interviews _I_ did in magazines about our ‘epic’ love affair, but I don’t get it. It’s all nice words, but it’s so… alien. Like another language, or something.”

Sam, bless his heart, just nods. “I think I understand.”

“Good thing, ‘cause I don’t know if I do.”

“We’ll set this right,” Sam promises. “It’ll work out, I know it will.”

Dean wants to believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

There are counter-curses to try, and concoctions to drink. Dean takes them all, and lets the others poke and prod at him afterward in the hopes of finding something that knocks the block in Dean’s head loose. None of it takes.

At least Sam’s around now to keep Dean company, having decided to put his internship job on hold for a ‘family emergency’. It helps a lot, because although Dean’s done his fair share of stakeouts in the business, by the end of the week he’s nursing some serious cabin fever. Home is home, but Dean’s home is also the road, which has become off-limits.

That said, the talk with Sam helped a lot, and they talk more about if off and on over the next few days, which helps Dean’s thoughts coalesce into better shape. There are no solid answers to be found in these discussions – Sam knows better than to push – but just talking about it out loud makes a difference.

But Dean didn’t tell Sam everything.

How can he? As much of a relief as it is to have Sam listen, there are still limits to what Dean can put to words. For example, there’s no decent way to tell Sam that, from Dean’s point of view, Cas has a hell of a lot more in common with Sam than with Dean.

Cas is patient and confident, as evidenced by the way he’s answered every single one of Dean’s questions, no matter how stupid they are. Cas has brains and focus, as evidenced by how he pores over the books he’d obtained from the Campbell archives and other sources day in and out, sometimes only wandering off to sleep with bags under his eyes when someone reminds him, though even then he always, _always_ spares a smile for Dean, along a kind word that they’ll figure it out.

These are all good, admirable traits. But on the flipside there’s Dean, who’s a man of the road, and enough of a mess that he doesn’t even mind the shit the Campbells say about him, because it’s mostly true. He’s _happy_ with his life, i.e. the life that he remembers, which is a life of simple pleasures and only enough responsibilities to fit in a car that he loves. He firmly believes that there’s nothing wrong with any of this, no matter what bullshit pedigree he’s supposed to have descended from.

So where does Cas come in? He may be attractive, and Dean may have fantasized some about what the skin under Cas’s chin might taste like, but that kind of _zing_ (and yes, there is a zing) is for a few days, or weeks, of shared fun at the most. He’s a decent guy, too, but that’s important for building trust in hunting work, or in taking care of the community, at the most.

Marriage is different.

All right, Dean _has_ spared some thought about settling down with someone, even before the idea of Cas was presented to him. Coming home to someone sounds awesome in itself, if you strip away all the extra things like having to worry about the other person’s family, and having to adjust to the inevitable clash of schedules and priorities, and putting all that effort into keeping a relationship fresh.

What kind of person would that be like? Someone special, definitely. Someone fun and exciting, and with whom Dean can be kick his heels up around without a care.

Cas is a good guy, but maybe _too much_ of a good guy. Too polite, too thoughtful, too much of a mature adult where Dean’s kinda allergic to the concept and will probably have the humor of a twelve-year old until the day he dies. Maybe the four misplaced years changed Dean a lot (but he doesn’t think so, not with how everything else still feels right) but he can’t help looking at Cas and, despite being fully aware of what a catch the guy is, feeling a little disappointed.

It’s not a good feeling to have, especially since it’s warring with the other side of Dean that’s fully aware of how out of Dean’s league Cas is.

Case in point: three days after Sam returns home, Cas calls for a family conference (no, seriously, he calls it that, what a nerd) to lay down the next course of action. See, Cas is the kind of guy who makes lists – Dean’s seen Cas lug that notebook around with him wherever he goes and writing in it whenever – and calls for _meetings_ with prepared _agendas_.

Today, Cas waits until everyone’s gathered in the living room – Dean and Sam, and Mom and Dad – before saying, “I think we should have a press conference. To announce Dean’s condition.”

While Dean is busy boggling that his life is one that includes press conferences willy-nilly, Mom pipes in first with, “It’s really too early for that.”

“I disagree,” Cas says. “I’ve already cancelled multiple appointments, and there’s preparations to be made for the upcoming solstice.”

“We can still cover for him,” Sam says. “Hunting accidents happen. It’s not out of the ordinary.”

“But that would still leave Dean stuck here,” Cas points out. “And for no good reason.”

“Hey, it’s just a minor house arrest,” Dean says defensively. He turns to his parents, imploring. “It’s okay. A little boring, but no big deal, I swear.”

“I don’t think going to the press is a good idea yet,” Dad says. “But we should start thinking about it.”

“May I draft something, then?” Cas asks. Mom gives him a look that has Cas ducking his head awkwardly, but he still says, “I’m not giving up. I’m _not_. But Dean’s been indoors for over a week, and we don’t know how long this may take. He shouldn’t be forced to stay put.”

Dean swallows back his protest that he’s not a dog, because Cas happens to be right. Sam, however, speaks up for Dean by saying, “A press conference would make that worse. People will know his condition and swamp him for it. I agree that Dean shouldn’t have to sit here waiting, but maybe… with someone to go with him?”

“I need a babysitter now?” Dean says. “Thanks, guys.”

“I know this isn’t fair,” Mom says apologetically. “What do you think, John? Just the town should be fine, right?”

“He’s not a kid,” Dad agrees. “You think you can handle being a celebrity? Go for it.”

“John,” Mary says.

Sam says quietly to Dean, “It’s not like that around here, anyway.”

There’s more back and forth, and they eventually agree that a press conference can wait, but Dean should be able to go out, albeit with precautions in place that Dean can follow because he’s not an idiot. It’s not ideal, but in this kind of situation, what would be? Dean’s just happy he can pick up a calzone from his favorite place without being tailed.

Since that’s settled, the conference disperses, though Dean waits until the others have wandered off (Sam only goes when Dean signals him with a jerk of his chin) before shuffling up to Cas.

“Hey,” Dean says, and tries not to be perturbed by Cas’s complete stop of cleaning up his papers so to give Dean his full attention. “Just… thanks. I really don’t mind hanging around the house, but it’s nice of you to bring it up.”

“You may not mind, but I do,” Cas says. “It’s bad enough that you feel trapped by my presence, you don’t need to be physically trapped in this house.”

“I’m not…” Dean stops and takes a breath. “You don’t make me feel trapped.”

Cas raises his eyebrows in an amiable expression of doubt. “If you say so.”

He starts to turn away, but is stopped when Dean grabs his arm. Dean pulls his hand back quickly, and tries to not let Cas’s wide-eyed surprise throw him. “I’m trying to be grateful here, man,” Dean says. “You’ve been doing a lot, without much to show for it.”

“I’m persistent,” Cas says. “And it’s no hardship.”

Dean scoffs, then immediately clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m just… sorry.”

Cas frowns, absurd in his intense concern. “Don’t be. None of this is your fault.”

“Yet it’s ‘cause of me you had to move out of your room—”

“It’s your room, Dean,” Cas says. “As this is your house, your safe space, so to regain a sense of comfort.”

Dean’s face burns. The logical part of his brain agrees that none of this is his fault, but here’s Cas saying outright that he knows how uncomfortable Dean is with him around. A petulant part of Dean’s brain adds: well, it’s _true_ ; but the point is, Dean already felt guilty enough as it is without Cas pointing out that he’d known all along that his presence was doing the opposite of helping.

What was it Cas just said? His presence makes Dean feel trapped. He’s right, though, isn’t he? Cas has expectations that Dean can feel around him like a net, twisting tighter even as Cas tries to keep his distance (on purpose, now Dean knows it was on purpose). Dean is torn by the desire to not make things worse for this poor guy he doesn’t know, and an anger that he feels that way at all because he _doesn’t know this guy._

“Oh,” Cas gasps, covering his mouth with his hand in surprise. “I’m sorry, that’s too much. It’s too much.” He turns away and says quietly, as though unconsciously thinking out loud, “Dial it back, do better.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something nice, or maybe apologize again, but Cas has already wandered off and out of the room. That leaves Dean standing there by himself, feeling stupid and useless.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting out of the house feels like a turning point. It’s not even two weeks since Dean woke up confused, but it seems much longer, and the change of scenery is a blessed relief. That, plus sitting in the Impala in the garage is _so_ not the same as feeling her alive underneath him.

At first Dean only goes out briefly, just glad to be able to drive along the quieter roads on the edge of town, and away from interested eyes. The next day he passes by his old haunts downtown, waving at familiar faces when he sees them, though not stopping just yet. The day after, he picks up the calzone he’s had a craving for, from good ‘ol Ruth who doesn’t seem to notice anything different with him.

There’s a lack of answers in the research Sam and the others are doing about the curse, but as it turns out, the Impala has answers of her own.

Dean’s parked at one of his spots near the old stone bridge, his calzone takeaway waiting for him on the Impala hood. He’s searching for napkins in the glove apartment, and in his rummaging finds the usual maps, first aid equipment and cassette tapes, interspersed with newer stuff like a dog-shaped calendar (gag gift from Sam?), a bottle of lube wrapped in a hand towel, and a small leather-bound notebook.

He does find some napkins, and after debating about it for two seconds, he takes the notebook as well. Might as well have some reading entertainment, and the only person whose privacy he’s invading is his own.

Dean eats, and flicks through the notebook. He’s disappointed to find that it’s relatively new, and most of its pages clean and unused. The pages that _are_ used are filled with his writing, a great deal of it in familiar hunter spiel of dates, bullet point details from interviewed witnesses, and the occasional sketch. There’s no mention of Cas, not that Dean expected there to be.

There are a few ticket stubs and receipts between the pages, and though most of them seem to be random, one seems to be used as bookmark. In this page Dean’s writing is more spread out, and it contains an address, with a date and time. This shouldn’t be notable, except the date is only a few days ago, so it’s unlikely to have something to do with a case he was working on before he got mind-whammied.

It could have been an appointment. There was that school event that Cas mentioned, except the address is in Lawrence and doesn’t match any of the schools that Dean knows about.

Curiosity compels Dean to check it out. It’s not like he has anything else better to do today.

So he goes.

It’s a pretty straightforward drive, except for one point where he gets turned around because the turn-off before the river has changed. It’s not even an hour before he finds himself nearing his destination, which is apparently down the quiet street where the old mill used to be, but has since been cleared.

Dean brings the Impala to a stop, and peers out through the window at the mundane view beyond. It’s a house, or something that was once a house and is trying to be a house again in the future. Scaffolding, canvas, and pallets of bricks fill the front yard, though there’s no workers to be seen.

When Dean steps out of the car, he’s hit with the strangest sense of the déjà vu, which he initially chalks up to having been in this area so many times to handle the old mill’s persistent hauntings. But then Dean approaches the house grounds themselves, and makes out the pile of stones that are obviously going to be used to line a pathway, and the wooden frame that’s obviously a prelude to a garage, and the half-carved piece that’s obviously going to be hung over the front door.

It’s not any single, specific detail that pings Dean to exactly what this place is. It’s the whole package, which Dean knows he’s never seen before, but can recognize anyway.

“Holy shit,” Dean says under his breath.

This is his house. Well, it’s supposed to be his and Cas’s house, whenever it was meant to be completed. Dean’s always wanted a garage set at the angle of the house that way, for easy access to the kitchen and to keep Baby out of direct sun glare. Dean’s always wanted a walkway like that, because as much as he loves the family home, he’d never been a fan of the marble slabs that Mom favors.

The size is just right, it has easy access to the highway, it’s not that far from Mom and Dad’s place, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s his own handiwork in the blunderbuss carving.

It seems obvious in retrospect that he and Cas would be planning to get their own place. He’d somehow assumed that they already had a place nearby, but then why would all of Dean’s junk still be at Mom and Dad’s?

Dean walks through the would-be garden in a daze, half-disbelieving at this place’s existence and half-pleased with himself for having done a really good job so far. The roof is a mess and the greater garden needs a hell of a lot more work, but the idea is solid. Hell, Dean can even see a small area cordoned off with string that he just _knows_ is meant to be a dedicated barbecue area, which is all sorts of awesome.

A faint gasp-like sound nearby makes Dean freeze. He can’t see anyone, but if he strains his ears he can just make out more of that noise from the back of the house.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t just announce his presence. Curiosity, maybe. He creeps as silently as he can, keeping his body close to the side of the building, and peers around the corner.

There’s a figure sitting on the step of the house’s backdoor, their head turned away from Dean. It’s Cas, although Dean didn’t recognize him at first because he’s hunched over, curled tight and his shoulders shaking. He’s holding a shirt that Dean recognizes as one of his own.

Cas is crying, and doing his damned best to be as quiet about it as possible. Not much is audible beyond the odd choke or hiccup, but even those are smothered with vehemence.

He’s not a small man, but he sure looks tiny like this, dwarfed by the home he’d been building.

A slow horror of realization creeps over Dean, even as he’s busy being embarrassed about stumbling on someone in a private moment. There’s been a great deal to think about lately, but one thought that has rolled off of Dean’s brain until this moment has been an understanding of how alone Cas is. This isn’t Cas’s country or his culture, and once you take his tenuous status as Dean’s fiancé out of the picture, this isn’t his family, either.

Dean takes a careful, silent step back, and looks up at the house. He’d felt a surge of excitement when he’d guessed what this place was but he’d not parsed that this wasn’t supposed to be just his home. It was supposed to be Cas’s, too.

Here is evidence that he’d wanted to build something _with_ Cas, both of them together and side-by-side. This house has his marks on it, but it has Cas’s, too, though Dean can’t tell where or what they are.

Cas is crying for him, because Cas loves him. Dean hadn’t wanted to think too closely about what that meant beyond the vague abstract that they’d had enough of a connection that Cas could ask Dean to marry him and Dean would say yes. Dean hadn’t even thought that Cas had this strength of feelings inside him, what with the guy being so calm and logical the whole time that Dean’s known him.

But that makes sense, though, doesn’t it? Dean’s stressed out enough as it is, and Cas didn’t want to add to that.

Dean creeps off quietly as he can, and drives back home.

 

* * *

 

 

Maybe Dean could’ve done better. Maybe he can _do_ better, and just not be suspicious about the whole concept of him actually finding a dude he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and in not a bare-bones, just-settling sort of way.

Dean gets back home and tries to set his thoughts in order, no matter that that seems like a futile effort. Sam seems to notice that something’s off with him, but Dean waves it away, and gamely takes the newest brew courtesy of the Men of Letters apothecary that’s supposed to knock his synapses back into shape.

It’s not until hours later that Cas finally returns, more books in his arms and his face perfectly pristine. He even smiles at Dean the way he always does: friendly and non-threatening.

It’s really interesting how differently Dean parses that smile with brand new information.

Dean waits until after dinner, when Cas has gone up to the study that he and Sam are using as their research base. Dean gives it a few minutes and then goes up as well, where he lingers in the doorway while Cas is standing over the desk arranging his newest batch of paperwork.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Cas starts in surprise. “Oh, hello. Do you need something?”

“No, it’s… Actually, yeah. I guess.” Dean rocks on the balls of his feet. “I got a question.”

“You may ask anything you like.”

Dean clears his throat. “Why do you love me?”

It’s definitely not the question Cas was expecting. Dean studies his face, trying to make sense of the little twitches under his eyes and around his mouth, and wondering whether the inscrutability of his face is a conscious effort or not. But then Cas takes a breath and a wall falls away, and Cas is suddenly an incredibly handsome dude who’s also very obviously thinking intently about the love of his life.

“You’re kind.” Cas’s smile is softer, fonder. “Funny. Witty, stubborn as hell. Unafraid to call me out on my nonsense. Brave. Thoughtful. Rude, which can be very useful when the moment calls for it. Clever. Passionate – so passionate, so full of life. And there’s…” He stops, as though suddenly remembering that he has an audience.

Dean licks his dry lips. “Keep going. If you wanna.”

There’s a flicker in Cas’s gaze, as though reluctant to push forward. Then he seems to make a decision, and says, “You don’t know me very well, but I had an unusual upbringing. I never knew my parents, and never had parental figures I could trust or look up to. Life was transient, uncertain, and often dangerous. My sister and I could rely on each other, but we were children, and we only had each other.”

“Anna, yeah, you mentioned.”

“So I think you can imagine that I developed a particular way of viewing the world, and of my place in it. I’d never been truly safe.” Cas’s mouth quirks. “Until you. You made me feel safe. Safe to be me, safe to want things for myself, safe to reach out to another person and share their burdens. I...” Cas pauses again, and presses a hand to his face as he tries to control himself. “Excuse me.”

“No, that’s… That’s good. I think I get it.”

Cas shakes his head, and his eyes are fierce. “It went both ways. I made you feel safe, too. And—” he blinks rapidly, stubbornly trying to see this through, “—I am honored for it. Thank you.”

Dean nods weakly, wondering if there’s any version of him that’s deserving of that kind of emotion.

“One day, I hope to show you,” Cas says. “Not now, I know it can’t be now, not with… It’d be cheating, wouldn’t it? That I know so much about you, and you barely know anything about me. But I promise you – we were very happy, and I believe I can give that to you again. If you’ll let me, of course.”

Dean realizes that his hands are shaking. It’d be nice if that’s because his body recognizes Cas’s words somehow, but he thinks it’s more because _anyone_ in their right mind would be overwhelmed when faced with such a declaration. Cas’s promises are for Dean, who maybe kinda does enjoy the idea of romance, and the occasional romantic gesture, and the few chick-flick films tucked away in his collection somewhere, but that’s not even in the same ballpark as what Cas seems to be talking about.

Cas is still mostly a stranger. But he’s also a stranger who’s hurting deep and trying to hide it, which cracks the image Dean’s been building in his head.

On the surface Dean still knows that he doesn’t owe Cas anything, and he still hates the sense of expectation Cas’s simple presence implies (which Dean now realizes Cas would be even more conscious about, considering that they were forced to get married that first time by powers greater than themselves). But now Dean’s getting a glimpse of how deep Cas’s hope goes, and it’s much, _much_ further than what Cas had let Dean see.

Dean steps into the room, and approaches Cas in a fuzzy, dream-like state, as though he’s standing outside his body. Cas’s eyes track him curiously as he moves, and when they’re standing close enough, Dean discovers that Cas is a tiny bit shorter than him, which means that Cas has to tilt his head a minute amount to look at him.

It’d be nice if something about this were familiar, but it isn’t. Dean places his fingers on the side of Cas’s face, thumb just pressing the corner of Cas’s mouth. Cas’s eyes are gorgeous, really.

Dean leans in, only for Cas to inhale sharply and avert his face.

“No?” Dean says quietly.

“It’ll mean something different for me than it would for you,” Cas says. “It’d be unfair.”

“Is it unfair if I know that?” Dean asks. “Of course it’s different. I don’t mind.”

Cas blinks rapidly, and slowly turns back. His mouth parts when Dean moves, and for a second Dean hovers with their lips just brushing, Cas’s breath warm on Dean’s skin.

It’s a slow kiss, careful and exploratory. Cas doesn’t move until Dean does so first, their mouths fitting together, noses brushing, the tip of Dean’s tongue just touching Cas’s. There are definitely tingles flickering up Dean’s spine, but there’s no revelation more interesting than the fact that Cas tastes good, smells good, kisses good.

Dean draws back, and only just notices that Cas has kept his eyes open, and otherwise hasn’t touched him. In fact, Cas’s hands are down by sides, clenching on air.

“Uh…” Dean swallows another apology. “Thanks.”

Cas closes his eyes for a moment, but his smile is as sincere as always. “It’s my pleasure, Dean. Good night.”

“’Night.”

 

* * *

 

 

They have to start thinking of the possibility that this is permanent. Dean’s been hoping for a quick-fix that’ll get him out from having to make sense of everything, but when they’ve passed the two-week mark and heading straight for the third, it’s probably time to pencil in long-term solutions.

Mom and Dad are still not fans of doing a press conference, but they’ll be facing stiffer consequences if this gets out on its own. Dean thinks he has a decent handle on what he’s missed, but he hasn’t actually gone out there to meet the people who have gotten invested in the idea of him and Cas. Plus, there’s the whole thing where Ellen and Naomi are still banking on them for PR, and Dean _really_ doesn’t want to be responsible for another international incident.

“You don’t actually have to be there if we do a press conference,” Sam points out. He and Dean are sitting on the hood of the Impala, nursing beers and just barely giving lip service to the fact that they’re supposed to be stargazing. “Me, Mom and Dad can do it, and make a request for a privacy at this trying time.”

Dean picks at the label of his beer bottle. “That does sound tempting.”

It’s a cool night out, and there’s little more than the sound of wind, rustling trees and vehicles in the far off-distance. This should have a calming effect, but the knots in Dean’s stomach refuse to ease up. It’s been days since but he thinks he can still feel the tingle of Cas’s lips on his, no matter that there’s been nothing at all like that since then, and Cas has retreated to the minimum safe distance while Dean broods.

“What’ll happen to Cas, you think?” Dean asks.

“He’ll probably finally tell Anna.” When Dean looks at him in surprise, Sam adds, “Yeah, he hasn’t told her or anyone else which, for the record, I disagreed with. She might come out here to be with him for a while, maybe.”

“He won’t get deported, would he? I mean, I – I really don’t want that to happen.”

Sam studies Dean’s face for a long moment. “We won’t let that happen. Has he said…?”

“He wants to try again,” Dean says. “Whenever I’m ready. But I don’t know if that means he’ll want to just hang around here like a chump, waiting for scraps.”

“Dean, you’re not—”

“Whatever, man,” Dean says quickly. “I just don’t want him to get uprooted again just ‘cause of me.”

“That’s not only on you, you know,” Sam says. “He’s my responsibility, too. Not to mention Mom and Dad’s.”

It feels a little silly to be worrying about this when there’s a whole bunch of other bigger worries looming in close. Dean wants to hunt again, be with his friends again, see the greater sights of the continent through the windows of his baby again. He wants all of that a _lot_ , but it’s jamming up against the role he’s cultivated for the past few years, and may never be completely free from.

“I guess there’s—”

Dean pauses, grunting at the churn in his stomach. He totally doesn’t need heartburn on top of everything else, but it would just be his luck.

“Dude,” Sam says. “You okay?”

Dean means to say that he must’ve eaten a bad burrito, but when he opens his mouth, he belches. He swallows, tries again, and belches again. Fully annoyed now, he glares down at his stomach, which seems to decide that this is the perfect time for a full-on rebellion. Dean hurls.

He aims as well as he can, away from his shoes and from the Impala. There’s the beer, then the remains of dinner, and then something brown-black that could be the coffee he’d had earlier but he’s pretty sure the consistency of it is wrong.

Deep inside Dean’s brain, something clicks back into place. It’s kinda like remembering a dream that had been so vivid when you’d had it, but when you got up to brush your teeth it faded out of reach, only for some small detail pinging it back into full technicolor.

Dean staggers backwards, grateful for his brother grabbing his arms before he hits the ground.

“Oh shit, I owe Bobby the silver bullets,” Dean says. “He’s – what day is it – fuck, he must’ve sailed off already.”

“Dean?” Sam says carefully. “Is it—”

“You have an exam!” Dean roars. “Wasn’t it supposed to be last week? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Gee, I wonder,” Sam says flatly.

The splitting headache has returned, along with four years’ worth of memories and knowledge. Everything from Sam’s internship, Grandpa Samuel’s sudden visits after years of cold-shouldering, being all-out pissed when Sam got engaged – it’s all there. And it’s a trip and a half to have that sit side-by-side with the memory of these past few weeks where he’d wandered around in a confused, hangover-like stupor. Dean’s been under hexes before, some of them turning him angry, tired, or just plain high, but this is _wacky_.

Goddamn, he’s been stressed these past weeks, and not even aware of _how_ stressed he was.

“Oh shit,” Dean says. “I’ve got to… Are you taking samples of my puke?”

“Someone’s got to!” Sam exclaims from his spot on the ground, where he’s scooping up grossness for the sake of science. “Do you remember everything?”

“I think so,” Dean says. “Yeah, it’s all there.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a good thing Sam’s round, because Dean doesn’t think he has the focus necessary to document what just happened, and what the trigger was. On the drive back home (where Sam drives, because Dean’s feeling a bit dizzy) Sam posits out loud that it was one of the counter-spells they’d tried, but it had a delayed reaction and took a few days to take, possibly due to the original cause being an undirected, accidental hex.

It’s all fascinating, and Sam will probably publish a paper on it and get awards and all that good shit. But Dean’s unable to appreciate that right this moment, not when there’s something else that needs doing immediately, ASAP, this is one time where Dean’s okay with Sam leapfrogging the speed limit while driving his car.

It’s taking too damned long, and Dean’s just about ready to vibrate out of his skin.

They finally make it home, and as Dean jumps out he calls over his shoulder, “You can poke at my head later, right now I gotta—”

“Sure, don’t worry about it,” Sam yells back. “I’ll call Missouri and – okay, bye!”

Dean spares five seconds to hug his parents and kiss Mom on the cheek, and then he’s barreling upstairs two steps at a time.

Cas is in the guest room. He’s sitting on the floor and drawing on a huge sheet of sketch paper that’s set out in front of him. He registers Dean’s presence and looks up, and for a second his face drops into that same infernally affable smile that was meant to put Dean at ease, as though Dean’s a skittish animal that can’t deal with any overt display of affection – which he was, but what the _fuck._

But then Cas’s expression changes, sobering and surprised, and he says, “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “It’s me.”

Cas doesn’t break, not even when he stands up and grunts when Dean grabs him, squeezing him tight. Cas touches Dean – a hand in Dean’s hair, another stroking down his back – and he murmurs comfort and platitudes while Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck and breathes.

“Stop that,” Dean mutters. “Stop it, Cas.”

“But have you been checked?” Cas asks. When Dean pulls back to make a face at him, Cas just shakes his head and says, “What happened? We need to identify what the mechanism was, and that you won’t relapse—”

“Stop trying to be calm about this!” Dean exclaims. “I lost you!”

Cas blinks rapidly, trying to hide the slight damp his eyes, and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. I wasn’t going anywhere. Dean, it would take far more than this to get rid of me—”

“Not you.” Dean realizes he’s holding Cas’s arms too tightly, and eases up. Better to use his hands to cup Cas’s face, keeping him there for kisses Dean drops to Cas’s temple, his cheeks, the corners of his eyes. “You’d be working on it forever if you needed to. I’m talking about me. I lost you _here_ —” he knocks a fist against his chest, the thump loud and painful, “—and had no fucking clue.”

Cas’s mouth falls open in surprise. “That… yes, that did come to my attention—”

“Oh my god,” Dean groans, pulling Cas into another rib-crushing hug. “You were standing right in front of me and I had no idea. No _idea_.”

“I can hear an apology coming,” Cas says, voice muffled. “Don’t.”

For Cas’s sake, Dean resists the urge and stays quiet. His whole body seems to be aching from withdrawal, so that even with Cas finally in his arms again, he’s not close enough. Dean opens his mouth and releases a snarl of frustration, fear and rage, because that was too fucking close.

It really does feel like he’s been drunk this past few weeks. A couple of synapses were out of whack, and it wasn’t just memories that’d been missing – a whole chunk of Dean’s self was gone. Gone, _poof_.

“I saw you at the house,” Dean says.

There’s a pause. “Oh.” Cas finally lets out a shaky breath, and then a choked-off hiccup. “I—I wasn’t giving up—”

“I _know_. Cas, I know. Look, I just…” Dean pulls back just enough that he can rub his palm against his eyes. “I have a headache. I feel like I’m gonna throw up with how close that was, and I need to lie down for a while. Sam can wait, whatever.”

“You need to cuddle?” Cas asks.

“Yes!” Dean barks. “Yes. I missed you. Even when I didn’t know you, I missed you.”

Cas slants a look at him, and slides his arms over Dean’s shoulders with the easy grace that has Dean sighing with relief. _God_ , Dean’s needed that touch, but Cas needs it just as much, if not more. Confidence has lit Cas’s eyes up again, but Dean can tell he’s still holding back, and will keep on holding back until he’s sure that Dean won’t self-flagellate himself into oblivion.

Dean has quite a bit of work to do to make up for these past few weeks. He owes it to both of them, really.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Cas says, and Dean growls his approval against Cas’s mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

After some check-up from various people who care about his well-being, Dean gets the green light to relax, since the hex has apparently purged clear out of his body. That’s good.

Also good? Is Dean lying in bed and getting to watch Cas, who’s carrying his pillow back from the guest room, climb in to join him. They’re both too exhausted for sex, but there’s some pretty intense cuddling, which is more than enough for now.

They sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to flyingcatstiel for the hand-holding and the beta! Any remaining spelling/grammar mistakes are my own, feel free to point them out in the comments or via [my tumblr](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com).


	8. Sam gives Dean Castiel's letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from [chapter 4 of Capital Five FM](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1889730/chapters/5689985), where Sam reunites with Dean and gives him Castiel’s letter.

Sam can’t remember exactly when the last time was he’d cried in front of Dean, but it was probably at home, and probably one of those times Sam got upset with Mom and Dad, or maybe with the other Campbells, and the only person he’d let see him was Dean.

He’d definitely not cried like this, though, with full-on gasping sobs and shaking so hard that it’s a wonder he hasn’t vibrated right out of Dean’s hug. But Dean’s being a usual stubborn SOB, clinging on to Sam with a determined grimness that Sam had been too afraid to hope for.

“We’ll make this right,” Dean says. “I promise.”

That’s his big brother voice, which so many times in the past Sam had found annoying and unnecessary, but now – _now_ – has him shuddering with relief.

“Thank you,” Sam says hoarsely. He pulls away and wipes an embarrassed hand over his face. “I – _shit_.”

“Don’t thank me, you dumbass, that’s what I’m fucking here for.” Dean ruffles a hand through Sam’s hair, and shoots a warning glare at Bobby who’s been hovering nearby with a worried scowl.

Sam took care when he’d travelled up the highway, but he knows that he was recognized up the last mile to the house, and word will be out soon. He rubs his arms, remembering the scouring sharpness of concrete when Uriel tackled him a few days ago, and tries to calm down. This was the right thing to do. Dean’s got a good set-up, and he’ll know what to do.

“You need a good meal in you,” Dean says. “Then you’re getting some sleep, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have a roadmap for getting you somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” Sam echoes. “Okay, yes, that’s good, but I have intel, Dean, I know—”

“Hey.” Dean squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “You’re barely holding it together. Let’s get that meal, and we can start talking as you eat, okay?”

“Okay.” Sam takes a breath, the band around his lungs tightening again when another wave of emotion passes over him. “Dean, just – I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“ _Food_ ,” Dean says firmly. “I’m not kidding.”

Sam nods silently, agreeing that he probably shouldn’t talk right now. Still, his heart is hammering hard with gratitude and relief, and it seems remiss of him not to express that, after everything it took to get him here. He hopes Dean understands – he does seem to, in the way he smiles and drapes an arm across Sam’s shoulder to drag along.

“Oh.” A memory stirs, and Sam fumbles with the pockets of his jacket, pulling out the small folded piece of paper. “This is for you.”

“Hmm?” Dean says, distracted. “What’s that?”

“From Castiel.”

Dean trips. He slowly releases his hold on Sam’s shoulder, so to draw back and look at him properly in the eye, his expression frozen in a smile that’s not really a smile anymore. “What?”

“Castiel,” Sam says. “He – he saved me from Uriel, that’s one of Lucifer’s followers. Castiel and his sister, Anna, they found me, helped me. Anna’s the one who figured out the route for me to get here safely.”

“Castiel,” Dean echoes, voice strange. “My – the dude you were gonna marry?”

“The dude you _did_ marry,” Sam says. “Yeah. I know, it’s a hell of a coincidence, but I’m not complaining. So he, um… I asked him if he wanted me to pass a message to you, and he said yes, and wrote that. I didn’t look, I promise.”

It’s a small letter, and Sam’s curious enough to want to watch Dean read it, but Dean just looks at it, nods, and puts it into a pocket without opening it.

“Right, where were we?” Dean says. “Food. Let’s get some.”  


 

* * *

 

 

There so much to catch up on – what Dean’s been up to, what Sam’s been up to, what’s really been happening on the ground between Michael and Lucifer – that it’s hours later and long after dinner before Sam remembers Cas’s letter. Perhaps if Dean made even the slightest move to take it out his jeans pocket Sam might’ve been reminded, but no – it’s only when Sam’s bunked down in a storage room by himself that he finally remembers how much he’d wanted to witness Dean’s reaction to reading it.

“Cas won’t tell me anything, but I’m pretty sure something bad happened between them,” Anna had said, while it’d been just the two of them driving out to the checkpoint. “He gets all shifty and changes the subject.”

“That’s not necessarily Dean’s doing,” Sam had replied. “You are aware that Dean was coerced into the marriage, right?”

“Oh.” Anna had raised an eyebrow, though in good spirits. “And my little brother wasn’t?”

They’d spent some time arguing in defense of their siblings, which was almost mundane compared to the rest of Sam’s life in recent times, and he’d come away from it thinking that he’d learned more about Cas from Anna that he did from Cas himself.

Hence Sam’s current need to see what he can learn from Dean, though judging from the very focused conversation they’d had over their very long dinner, it’d be just as hard to get Dean to talk about Cas and it was for Anna to get Cas to talk about Dean.

Sam gets up. He’s supposed to stay hidden in this not-often used storage room, but surely there’s no harm in just taking a peek outside. Dean said he wouldn’t go far, not until he could get someone else he trusts to watch Sam’s back.

The heavy door opens with a creak, though there’s enough noise and activity outside that the sound is masked. Sam peers out and sure enough there’s Dean a few yards away, leaning against the wall and wouldn’t you know it, reading Cas’s letter.

Dean is frowning. He flips the paper over and back, his frown deepening. His mouth curls in disappointment, or maybe confusion, and then he’s dropping his weight back against the wall and sighing.

Sam may not know what’s going on, but he knows enough about his brother to know that whatever the letter says, it wasn’t what he’d wanted.

Dean starts, finally noticing Sam. Sam ducks back inside but Dean follows him into the storage room, hissing that Sam needs to stay hidden like he promised.

There may be a point there, but Sam’s actually interested in something else right now that isn’t his or anyone else’s peril (which is novel, after being so freaking stressed for so freaking long) and says instead, “Is everything okay in Cas’s letter? I hope it’s okay.”

Dean flinches, his face going pink as he swallows what was no doubt some attempt to berate Sam for changing the topic. Neither of them wants to start fighting again - not so soon, and not after everything that’s happened.

When Dean finally speaks, it’s with a great deal of effort. “Did he even want to write it? You said you offered to pass a message. Did you have to make him write it, too?”

Sam makes a surprised sound. “No. He did seem a bit... like it hadn’t occurred to him to ask? But once I offered, yeah, he went straight for it. Took him forever, though.” When Dean looks even more confused, Sam adds, “He spent a lot of time thinking before he wrote anything down. Seemed like he wanted to get it right.”

It’s funny – Sam spent so many weeks being angry at Cas, believing that surely he was part of the conspiracy with Michael and instrumental to getting Dean to agree to be used as the spare in their propaganda mission. There’s no way that Dean would’ve gone along with the fiction of being ‘really’ in love with a stranger unless they’d somehow had him by the balls, and in Sam’s mind the formal, stiff-jawed man that used be his fiancée could’ve known precisely how to do it.

Sure, Cas had been patient and understanding during the few weeks Sam spent with him as a fiancé, but he’d also been eerily calm in the face of what they were going to do, as though arranged marriages weren’t an archaic form of dehumanization.

But things changed after Michael made his move, and Sam slowly but surely understood how much Lucifer wasn’t telling him.

The man that Sam met in Rawlinshire was so far from being the Castiel of his memories that it’d taken an embarrassingly long time to recognize him. It was only when Castiel spoke to Uriel about Michael that Sam realized who he was, and even then he hadn’t understood the implications of what was happening, or that Castiel was just like him – fearful and in hiding for his life.

Creeping up on that realization of Castiel’s character was another, frightening one. Sam thought that perhaps he was reading too much in the way that Cas’s gaze would sometimes drift off to the middle distance, as though in search of something far away. At first Sam thought Cas was thinking about his home, but after he’d talked to Anna that seemed… less likely.

It’s not altogether that different a look from the one Dean had a few minutes ago, after he’d read Cas’s letter. Sam searches Dean’s face for it again now, but it’s gone.

“Did he say anything about me?” Dean asks.

“You mean, did we talk about you?” Sam says. “Not much. Only about your show – the one on the radio? He knows about it. He and Anna are listening in.”

Dean clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Nothing else?”

“He was kinda trying to avoid mentioning you at all, to be honest.”

Sam’s breath catches when Dean moves his right hand – unthinkingly, it looks like – to touch his left forearm, over where the marriage binding would be. Another memory stirs, of Cas snapping at Sam when he’d asked if their binding was broken.

“I asked him if the story was real,” Sam blurts out. “That you two were – that you were a thing when you were young? He said no. But there was _something_ , was there? Something actually happened between you guys?”

Dean turns away, lip curling in a horrible sneer. “Maybe? I thought there was, but hey, it’s been months and I guess he—”

“He records your show.” Sam swallows when Dean looks at him sharply. “Cas? He records your show on these cassettes, a whole bunch of them. He has these little labels on them, on the cassettes themselves _and_ on the covers, with dates and keywords – nothing that would give them away, of course. He and Anna were traveling, and he brought a Walkman around with him along with some of his recordings, and he let me listen to them.”

Dean’s face is a stone statue, except where his eyes are twitching despite his self-control, and Sam has to resist averting his gaze out of politeness.

“Anna said he listens to them all the time,” Sam says. “He brings the Walkman when he goes to work, even, and listens to them there.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, voice quiet and hoarse. “You fucking asshole.”

That’s not directed to Sam, so he doesn’t acknowledge it.

This time when Dean speaks, there’s such open emotion there that Sam’s head reels: “How is he? How’s he doing?”

“Okay?” Sam says. “He looks different, that’s for sure. He’s dyed his hair and has this big bush of a beard.”

Dean barks a laugh. “All right.”

“But he’s also… smaller.” Sam pauses, searching for the right description. “I don’t mean like he shrunk, exactly? He was a smart, formal dude when I last saw him right? Now he’s… not that. He seemed tired, quiet. Faded into the background, a little.”

Dean’s scowling again. “Is he sick?”

“I—I don’t know? I don’t think so, he helped me get away from Uriel, no problem.” Sam discovers to his surprise that he’s smiling; of all the intel he’d hoped to bring to Dean today, this one’s giving them both the most pleasure, and ain’t that a hoot? “I think I know where he and Anna are staying.”

This should be golden, but Dean freezes. He turns away, thinking furiously, and then shakes his head. “No. Thanks, but I don’t want to know.”

“You _don’t_ want to know,” Sam says. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles, and it’s with newfound confidence. “That’s not what either one of us needs yet.”

That doesn’t make much sense, but Sam shrugs. “All right, if you say so.”


	9. Reunion from Dean's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion from the end of [chapter 4 of Capital Five FM](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1889730/chapters/5689985), but from Dean's point of view.

When Dean arrives at Rufus’s place, one the first things he does is stand where the main gates used to be and looks out over the estate. He imagines Cas standing here, as this is the one route up the hill before the road diverges around the various buildings. This is the point Cas would have to pick a direction to go.

(Assuming Cas understands the message. And wants to come. And _can_ come.)

“Cars all on that side, right?” Dean asks.

Bobby, who’s standing just behind him, grunts an affirmative. “Most of ‘em, yeah. Some further down if there’s spillover, but we try to keep that area clear in case of emergencies. You sure your boy’s nearby?”

“Has to be,” Dean says. “It’s good that it’s crowded. He’ll be able to blend in.”

“Or be easier to spook,” Bobby says.

Dean shoots Bobby a look, but concedes with a shrug. “He’ll probably move at night, too, if he wants to risk it at all. That’s fine. I can stay on comms for the owl watch.”

Hope is a rush, centered around his talisman of a small piece of paper with Cas’s writing that’s tucked into the back of his jeans, but Dean knows very well that losing his head now could be catastrophic. Dean wants this, but he can’t jeopardize the work they’ve done against Lucifer, and he’s going to need a clear fucking head if he wants to keep that balance.

It’s going to be a long day of meeting people, getting comfortable with Bobby’s set-up, and moving in the rest of the gear with Charlie.

Dean rubs his hands together. “All right, let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

 

In dreams, Dean remembers Cas perfectly.

Every detail is crystal clear: Cas’s eyes, Cas’s smile, the way Cas’s nose twitches when he’s thinking. In Dean’s dreams, Cas is as real and close as possible.

Worse than the dreams in sleep are Dean’s worries when he’s awake. The months following their goodbyes may have been jam-packed with one crisis after another – Zachariah’s beachhead, Michael’s whole taking chunks of the country, Lucifer popping up like the long-lost relative no one misses – yet under everything there’s a partition in Dean’s brain that keeps a constant loop wondering about the nerdy li’l dude Dean left to fend for himself.

Is Cas okay? Did he manage to find his sister? Did he even reach the right part of the country? Even after Sam found Dean and confirmed all of the above, there’s still so much that’s unknown and unanswerable, which isn’t Sam’s fault but god _damn_ if that isn’t irritating as fuck. After all, just because Cas made it to his sister doesn’t mean that the journey to get there’s been smooth-sailing. Cas’s Republic-centric knowledge is mostly theoretical and filled with gaps; hell knows that Dean pinged him in two seconds the first time they met, so what are the chances that nobody else did? What are the chances that Anna and Cas _are_ keeping their heads down safely, if they were able to stumble upon Sam the way they did?

It’s bad enough that Dean’s getting a reputation for being ornery (Bobby’s word) whenever anyone mentions Cas around him.

But it’s been getting better. Sam sharing how he’d met Cas helped; getting Cas’s letter helped. The worst-case scenarios lingering at the back of his mind can be safely banished, but that leaves Dean free to worry about _other_ things.

Such as: is Cas still mad at him? Does Cas still think that Dean’s feelings were an act, or that Dean slept with him solely for the purpose of trying to get him to leave the House? Some of Cas’s anger at Dean had faded when they said their goodbyes, but that’s because Cas was still reeling over the revelations with Michael and feeling fucking _ashamed_ for them, as though anything his buttface cousin did was his fault.

Does Cas want to break their binding? Cas’s letter makes it clear he thinks it’s possible that Dean wants to, and that’s he’s _okay_ with it if that’s the case, but what does _Cas_ want? The night Dean set a burning flask to his arm was a stupid drunken mistake, but worse than that was being fucking terrified the whole of the next day as he’d waited for Cas to return the favor. That Cas didn’t do it is a sign that he doesn’t want to break the binding, right? Or is he being polite and waiting to do it properly, in person and with a cleric, after his own past failed attempt with the fork?

With so many questions in the air, it’s no surprise that Dean’s dreams of Cas are still vivid and intense. They don’t come every night, but often enough that Dean can afford to vacillate between being grateful and annoyed.

In dreams, Dean remember show it feels to hold Cas against him, the sheets of their Joshua House honeymoon bed soft and cozy around them. In dreams, he isn’t always an idiot and Cas smiles at him a lot more, though there’s a trade-off where crazy shit happens like Cas taking him dinosaur-riding and getting upset when Dean complains that the saddles are too big for him.

Said dreams can be intense enough that Dean sometimes wakes up disoriented and annoyed. It’s not just waking with a stiffie that’s a bummer to deal with; it’s the fact that Cas _isn’t there_.

 

* * *

 

 

All of the above considered, plus Dean’s doing some crazy hours this past week with the influx of refugees to Turner estate, it’s understandable that Dean isn’t always the nicest person to deal with when he wakes up.

It’s also understandable that Dean’s mood is even _less_ ideal when he’s woken up and has to deal with an afterimage of Cas standing right there, watching him with eyes that are only ever that bright in the dreams, and his mouth pursed in perpetual worry.

“Ugh,” Dean says distantly. “Go away, Cas.”

It’s much nicer when dream Cas laughs. Dean knows he made Cas laugh for real many times, but the exact memory of the sound has faded, probably because his psyche’s too damn caught up on how bad things got the last few days they’d had together, with how Cas shrunk away from him, walls up and distrustful as though Dean was just like everyone else in his life who’d used him for whatever.

Dean feels himself slowly sink back into sleep, and this time he’s glad for it because he’s pretty sure he _just_ dropped off from his all-nighter. He’s not as spry as he used to be, that’s for sure.

Hands grab his shoulders. “Come on, Dean!”

“Gah!” Dean yelps, eyes snapping open. Charlie’s in his face, though she immediately leaps back a few feet away to safety, which is a good thing because Dean’s fists are up and ready for action. Dean relaxes and rubs a hand over his face. “Goddamn it, Charlie.”

“You swearing at _me_ now?” Charlie says. “Then what’d the hell you say to Cas?”

Dean squints at her through his fingers. “What?”

“Cas,” Charlie says. “Castiel. Did he even speak to you?”

“Did who speak to me?”

Charlie’s mouth flattens into an unimpressed line. “I hadn’t even met the guy before today and you’re asking _me_ who?”

There’s practically a _click click click_ in Dean’s brain as it warms up, connections slotting into place so understanding can follow. When it does, Dean’s body turns hot, and then cold. His voice seems to come from a far distance when he says, “Cas is here?”

“Yeah?” Charlie says. “Didn’t you see him?”

Dean sits up sharply, and promptly falls off the bench. He flails, ignoring the sting in his left knee, and grabs at Charlie’s arm as she hauls him to his feet.

“Where?” Dean says. “ _Where_?”

“Commissary,” Charlie says. “Wait, put on your shoes!”

“I don’t—” Dean roars in frustration and double-backs to the bench for his boots. Each second of wrestling with the leather seems like an age, while his brain helpfully sets him in a vivid flashback back to Ilchester, and how he’d stood there like a moron while Cas drove off in the stolen car, leaving Dean wondering if he’d just made another stupid fucking mistake.

Dean shucks the shoelaces under the tongue and takes off at a run, Charlie yelling at his back as he goes.

Down the hallway, down the stairs, around the corridor – though he’s moving so fast that he runs into a wall at one point and has to roll off it, arms pinwheeling, before recovering his balance and moving on.

Dean realizes he’s clenching his teeth, and forces himself to stop. All this time, even before Sam came to him, he’d set his hopes low, low, _very low_ , because anything could happen in this crazy ‘ol world, even without Michael and Lucifer playing Happy Family all over the continent.

He’d told himself that he would be happy just to know that Cas is all right. It would be nice if he got to _see_ Cas again, but that would be a bonus. It would be an even bigger bonus if he got to talk to Cas, just a little bit – actually, even talking with him at a remove would be fine, like on the phone or whatever, because Dean didn’t need to see his face.

Dean just wants to know if he’s okay, if he’s safe, if he’s happy with Anna. Anything else would be extra, like, say, Dean getting a chance to explain that he may be a liar, but he never lied about how he felt about Cas, and he was truly sorry that he wasn’t a better husband, or even a decent friend. That’s all Dean wants. It’s a lot to ask for, but there it is.

And even bigger bonus would be the chance to ask if Cas forgives him a little bit. Or if there’s anything to that tidbit Sam said where Cas listens to recordings of Dean’s show. Or if it’s fucking true that Cas would be _okay_ if they broke the binding.

If Cas is gone... it’d be fine. Dean would be fine. It would be no one’s fault but his own, and he’d deal with it.

“Fuck that,” Dean hisses to himself.

The soles of Dean’s boots screech when he lands in the commissary, eyes searching for a face that’s unfamiliar for this setting. He turns wildly – there’s Bobby, there’s Benny – and there… he is.

Cas is standing by a table, shoulders hunched in, eyes panicked, frozen as though in the motion of making an exit.

He looks uncomfortable as hell but at the same time so goddamned gorgeous that Dean can’t breathe, and only just barely registers kicking a stool out of the way as he approaches Cas’s table.

All the dreams were wrong. They felt real when Dean was having them, but they were still wrong, like black-and-white copies of this full technicolor vision of realness.

There’s a thousand and one things Dean thought about saying to Cas if he ever saw him again, most of them memorable, some of them pithy.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Cas flinches. “Hello.”

Yeah, Dean’s knees go a little weak at that voice, whatever. “So, you’re actually here.”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean like, you’re _really_ here and not just in my…” Cas is starting to look confused, so Dean says, “Why’re you here?”

Okay, that might be a little accusatory. Cas’s hackles go up and he says, “Why do you think?”

Dean doesn’t think; he only hopes. “I’m not gonna assume, Cas.”

Cas’s eyes skitter sideways. Dean doesn’t know what it took for Cas to get here, but his fears are evident in his body language, attempting to be small and unassuming in a foreign, potentially dangerous place. For a second Dean regrets this – he shouldn’t have asked this of Cas, even if he’d done it indirectly – but on the flipside there’s no fucking way he would’ve violated Cas’s safety by tracking him down.

And besides, Dean’s already got one wish coming true with Cas being here at all.

“I’m here for you,” Cas says quietly. “I miss you.”

The breath rushes from Dean’s lungs. He turns the words over his head, trying to see if there’s any other way of understanding them, but nope. There’s only the one way to read it.

But Cas is holding that freaking coffee mug to his chest like a freaking shield.

“Give me the coffee,” Dean says.

Cas scowls. “No, this is mine. Get your own.”

“I’m not gonna drink it, just give me the—” There’s a weird moment as they battle for the mug, and Dean’s hands are shaking a little, but this is _important_.

Dean wins and gets the mug, which he sets on the table and out of the way. Then he’s taking Cas’s face in his hands, and watching Cas’s eyes go wide with shock – _really?_ – when Dean moves in to kiss him.

Cas’s mouth is slack, but soft and warm as Dean remembers. Dean kisses him once, hard, and then kisses the right corner of Cas’s lips, the left corner, the side of his nose, his cheek – and all the while muttering what must be nonsense in between. Cas seems to buckle in surprise at the onslaught, but Dean catches him by the arms, and then Cas is kissing him back – a little clumsily, and very much like a fella long out of practice.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean breathes against Cas’s lips.

Cas’s fists tighten into the back of Dean’s shirt. Dean holds him close, and cups a hand around the back of Cas’s head as Dean breathes him in.

It’s been quite the road getting here. Cas’s absence has been an ache, but Dean now realizes that that ache was a cleansing one. All these months of thinking hard and focusing on work that actually matters (fucking royal pissbabies) has Dean’s priorities whittled down to basics.

Once you chuck aside all the bullshit that was mixed into roles they had to play, all that’s left is what Dean wants, and the guts to fucking own that want.

They’re out in the open, people who know Dean are watching, and nah, he doesn’t care.

“Okay.” Dean draws back, palms settled on either side of Cas’s face so that it may be studied properly.

Yep, that’s Cas, who’s still looking a little shaken, but hella alert in a way that definitely mirrors what Dean’s feeling right now. The red hair’s weird, but everything else is so familiar and beautiful that Dean thinks he could stare at Cas all day just like this, but that’s not very productive.

Dean glances at the table. “You still want to finish your coffee?”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Yes, I… it would be a waste.”

Dean pulls the chair out for Cas, and once he sits, Dean takes the chair right next to it to stay close. Cas drinks carefully, though his gaze keeps moving back and forth between the drink and Dean, perhaps self-consciously. Dean would feel bad but he can’t, not when he’s enjoying scrutinizing the bob of Cas’s throat, the press of his lips against the rim of the mug, the slender hands holding the mug proper.

“I missed you a lot,” Dean says. “Like, a _lot_.”

Cas’s shoulders shrink in a little. He swallows another gulp, and then says, “Um. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You look good, too.”

Cas’s cheeks turn pink. “You look… nice as well.”

“Thanks. Did my best to stay pretty for you.”

Cas puts his now-empty mug down and fixes Dean with a look. “Right. I’d almost forgotten you could be like this.”

“You mean, be awesome?”

“I will accept that word for now,” Cas says, laughing under his breath. He’s still skittish, but he’s visibly trying to relax for Dean’s sake, which is pretty damn humbling.

“May I show you around?” Dean asks. “If you’re not – I don’t know if you’re busy—”

“You’re the busy one, Dean,” Cas says with a frown.

“Dude.” Dean takes Cas’s free hand between his and squeezes gently. “There is nothing I need or want to do more today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to flyingcatstiel for the help with this timestamp!


End file.
